And so I continue a two year tradition, to write rhymes to my friends about the Love they've been missing.
"Missed love?" one replied, "'tis not so bad as all that, we've had biscuits and laughter and gotten quite fat."
Fat maybe we've gotten, but Love you've been missing.
"Ain't nobody alive who I haven't been kissing."
And though kisses you've gotten and lovers you've gained, our lovers we broke with the music we made.
"Who would've thought you to spoil the fun!"
Well apologies friend, but it had to be done.
See our love 'twas selfish is what I've been saying, so none of them stayed to hear more of our playing.
"Good riddance!" one replied, "since their love it was rotten."
No arguments there, they're loves best forgotten. So lovers they done hurt us, as for us we did same.
"Then what good do you do by recalling their names?"
Maybe some, maybe none, whichever we do, I hoped to share good news by the time we're through.
"Some good news you share!" Taunted the one, "Spoiling Christmas and wrecking our fun."
Well to be fair friend it was you who went boasting 'bout the best of your lovers and the turkey you're roasting.
"And roast them we will!"
But with roasting aside, as I'd rather forgive than see old lovers fried. For love (real love) 'tis less like a roast than to boast.
"A boast?" Asked one as they stifled a chuckle, "You're full of beans sir and best leave on the double."
Well why not be a boast if this Love so desires, don't we boast of our weakness so to lift others higher. And if men make themselves fools so that you do their thinking, why cause it a fuss that clods slave to god's bidding. Or I'll boast as a slacker while you boast of your slaving, and who'd think it wrong with the gains you'd be making.
"So love's gentle?"
"Love is kind?"
"But you think I'm missing out on account of my pride?"
Tisn't so strange see it makes perfect sense, though there's only so much our eyes see from the fence.
"In that case do tell, you that thinks he's all-knowing, this love that you speak of, how low could it go?"
As low as we two if to save us Love's goal.
"Perhaps than this love it can do anything."
Heaven forbid, it's love's limit Love brings.
"Does love lie?"
"Does love boast?"
More than most.
"And oh where's love's name in the heat of your boasting. Or is Love so shy as to shrink from your toasting."
Why name you a name when His name you know best. You make Love's name a cursing and say it in jest, making less of the person who loves you the best.
"Oh come now, you know I've no time for this game, what with presents to post and guests who've came. There're birds which need plucking, puddings alight, and no end to the games that we've got in our sight.”
And here I thought playing dumb part of the game, we make merry come Christmas yet ignore why it's came.
“So long as there's merriment let's see holidays here, we're no mystics to ponder why Christmastime's near."
Then allow me my merriment, since I think it the best, sharing Christmas by starlight with wise men abreast. So you see maybe Christmas it's more than a song, something greater than a few of us getting along.
"Oh is that so? With wise men abreast to keep lists of my doings and remind me what's best. Having heard it you've arrived at the end of your preaching, with no mystery left to the things you've been teaching. Holy hymns, children choirs and something divine, these are what you're after as you top up my wine."
And you not being a mystic this is all quite oppressive, so you pursue other things to the point of obsessive. More wine?
"More wine from you I'd soon refuse, as it's blood in disguise and tainted with lies."
How about more mince pie?
"Or a thumb to the eye. Oh would you look how time flies."
And as time flies fly we too, shut the door on me now for tonight we're through. Still, you did know what I wanted?
"It I've heard before, though you mask much in play, be it by Santa, Rudolf or some other gent's sleigh. While I taunted your treasures, as I'd do everyday. . ."
Whilst I ride royal coattails making nary a fuss, as you slander His love making it as the dust. Still, you won't ask I forgive you all of your cursing, nor would you even think to 'til for love you're thirsting.
"So, by King Love's command yourself you've made a fool. Breathing fire, ice and hail long ere you're through. All to take me to places I can't go alone. . ."
― Tyrone Cormack